


Never Let Go

by Queensquiid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Demon Deals, M/M, Resurrection, breaking heaven, but not really, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queensquiid/pseuds/Queensquiid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby may have been dead, but he didn't belong in Heaven. Good, then, that a demon on Earth was breaking the rules by trying to bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GendrysNorthernWench](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GendrysNorthernWench/gifts).



> I'm a sucker for happy endings. And before you remark about any inaccuracies, I've not actually seen anything past 7.04. But I've heard things, and so this is sort of a fix-it 'fic.  
> Also posted on FF.net.

# Never Let Go

Bobby wasn't exactly expecting to turn up in Heaven when he died. He hadn't anticipated the thought that whatever God may have been watching him gave a fuck about his life enough to allow him passage into Heaven. To be fair, he had been expecting limbo, if not hell. Sure, he had made mistakes in the past. He had learned that you could not save everyone, in the same way a doctor learned during their first year of full time work. He also hadn't anticipated seeing his friends; the ones he had lost before, during and after the Apocalypse, after the ancient Leviathans had been unleashed upon the earth.

Perhaps Bobby had been glad for death; finally a release from the world that had tormented him too much for him to burden alone.

 

He had been met with a beaming Ellen, slightly tearful over his premature residency in Heaven but glad he was no longer fighting a losing battle. Sure, the Winchester boys would be troubled and scared, unsure of how to go it alone; but if they managed to pull off the destruction of the leviathans, then hunting would become easy or cease all together. They could live human lives, if they really wished it. If Sam ever overcame his cage-lucifer-Hell problems. If Dean ever got his Castiel back. But not everything was written in stone. Bobby had realised that when he opened his eyes to Heaven and all its outstanding beauty. Ellen had been pleased to see him, as had Jo and Ash. A few of his old hunter friends had been there to meet him, but had filtered away again to continue their half lives in Heaven's paradise.

One of the hardest parts was seeing John Winchester, still handsome even though weathered, the slight disappointment in his eyes that Bobby was no longer on earth to protect his boys. Bobby felt like a failure; felt like apologising profusely for failing to keep the boys wrapped in cotton wool forever. But, he was not sorry. He had helped them where needed, they were grown up now. They were capable of looking after themselves; practically raising each other from a young age with an absent father.

He calmed himself before he had a chance to get angry at John's look.

"Don't," The words were tossed carelessly into the winds of Heaven, tumbling from the elder Winchester before Bobby could say anything.

"You did better than me. They've gone so far already."

The hint of a smile, and John turned his back, walking away. He wasn't sure whether he should follow the man, or remain and see if he could find his wife.

_Bobby._

The barest breeze on the back of his neck, slithering to the shell of his ear. It felt personal, intimate, but not bad. He felt like he had experienced it before, wondered if it was Karen. He scratched absently at it, quelling the itch that accompanied the feather-light touch and ambling slowly across the plains of heaven. Overall, it wasn't what he expected. He had been told that Heaven was individual for everyone; a personalised paradise. If God was here, he was being kind by putting the other hunters he knew together.

The path he was on was peaceful at least. He suspected he could walk forever without finding anyone, if he really wanted to. There was a sun shining, bathing it with the warmth of a summer's day; not too hot, but warm enough to heat his skin lovingly. All around him was greenery; trees, plants, flowers of no name and no earthly origin. The Garden of Eden was probably more ostentatious, and he would not be surprised to find it completely devoid of human life.

Bobby found himself missing his home. The fire had completely destroyed it, in the same way the Roadhouse had been decimated by demons. Slightly different adversaries then, but the outcome was the same.

He had everything he ever wanted at his home; his books, the comfort of being in his own space. If he found his home here, would Karen be waiting for him? It had been a long, long time. Would he still feel the same way for her? Life experiences changed a person drastically. Of course, that love would always be there for her; she was taken from him so brutally that he would never be able to forgive himself.

But there had been other influences as well. His neighbour, Marcy; perhaps even Elenor, hell, even the demon Crowley had received more kisses from him than the afore mentioned women. That was sort of sad, were he into slang language. No, the times he had spent with Crowley were memorable and interesting to say the least. Sure, not all times they had met were under good pretenses, but all involved were players on a chessboard. It would not do well to move foolishly and unnecessary until the right moment. Demon he may be, he had given back Bobby something irreplaceable; his legs. A trust, tentative perhaps at times, but mostly solid, had been formed. They didn't have to like each other all the time, but there was a debt between them that blurred the lines of a conventional predator-prey, hunter-demon relationship.

_Bobby._

The itch again, this time around his wrists. It burned not unpleasantly, but Bobby did not like the feeling. It tingled, itched and burned, a scratch rendered incurable. He dug his nails in, thinking, was there really pain in Heaven? Surely, Heaven was a place for absolute peace. Perhaps they were finally realising he did not belong there.

He belonged back on Earth. He had to be helping the Winchesters fight the Leviathans. He had to help Sammy with his mental issues. He had to console Dean that Castiel would be coming back, that they could end up together and _happy_ , even if Dean wasn't good with letting Bobby know what he wanted. Bobby knew what his adoptive sons wanted. Without him, the brothers would fall apart, and that was not a good thing. The world would end for definite this time if they were not completely 'whole.'

Decided, he stepped off the beaten track, and found himself, suddenly, by his house.

* * *

"Dude, maybe we should... You know, cremate him."

Sam's sigh did nothing to indicate to Dean whether he was right or wrong. Sure, he was battling his own set of problems, but this was important. Thankfully, Bobby had left them enough money to cover the funeral expenses without breaking the law; another incident they wanted to avoid.

"Dean, do you really want to think about that now? I mean, the man's just died."

"We gotta think about what he would have wanted," Dean retorted. Sure, he understood his brother's argument, but he was irritable.

Crowley had turned up at the hospital shortly before Bobby had passed away, ashen faced and shaking with something Dean didn't understand. He'd been threatened, told to stay away by Dean, but Crowley seemed incapable of moving. His eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, staring at a spot over Dean's shoulder. When the hunter followed his line of sight, he saw Bobby, breathing getting shallower and shallower. He was on the brink of death. Dean turned back to Crowley, and found the demon had gone.

"We can't let those fucking scumbags from Hell get their hands on him. They would wanna use his body against us."

Sam sighed again, but his brother's argument was solid. It seemed nowadays Dean was making more and more sense while Sam was becoming increasingly irrational. Lucifer perching on his shoulder did not help him. Even now, Sam's eyes roamed around the empty conference room at the hospital to find the Devil standing behind Dean, eying the hunter with something akin to lust, leaning against the table to fully look Sam's brother in the face.

"Could you imagine, Sammy? This man, at your mercy. Such a beautiful man. So... Obedient. I'll bet he moans rather than screams." Twisted grin, hands clawing as if to grab Dean in a perverse manner.

"Leave him, you sick fuck," Sam begged, finger twitching and aching to attack his wound on his hand again. He gritted his teeth, ready to spring and defend his brother if the situation arose. Lucifer's grin made the Cheshire Cat's look tiny.

"Sam?" Dean questioned, suddenly aware that Lucifer was in Sam's head again.

" _Lucifer_. If you touch my brother I will kill you."

Dean simply sat down at the table, held his head in his hands and tried not to cry.

* * *

Time. How long had he been here? There were bottles in the fridge; cold and waiting just for him. It was a sweet respite from the mild ache he had been feeling. He was dead. He didn't know if he would ever understand that. Of course, it meant his heart would no longer beat, brain activity would stop, but still. It was the premise of it. In actual fact, he had expected to die a lot earlier. Or, if Castiel hadn't unwittingly brought the Leviathans to the world's surface, he would be dead in ten years because of Crowley.

Everything. Everything related back to that blasted demon. Bobby was sure that the demon would have changed the deal somewhere, and he would soon be faced with the snarling, oversized snouts of Hell hounds tracking him across the US. The demon had kept his side of the deal, as promised. Bobby didn't know what to make of that knowledge. Especially with how he and Castiel had turned against Heaven, Hell and Team Free Will all at once to open purgatory. Crowley may have been somewhat friendly towards the hunter, but this? This was not a respectable thing to do. It broke whatever little trust Bobby had put in Crowley, and in turn, in Castiel.

He opened a bottle, shutting the fridge with a gentle pat of his hand. It shut the way it always used to. Here, it was as if he never died. He was in a state of stasis; merely waiting until it was a useful time to come out and leave.

He slumped on the sofa. His wife was not here. Was she merely waiting for him somewhere else? He had combed the house and the outdoors; past shiny cars that would not degrade further and grounds that gave way to trees. In the distance, he could see the Roadhouse; incorrect in relation to its location on Earth, but here it did not matter. He would not be surprised if John and Mary's house was here, too, pristine; how it was before the fire.

_Bobby._

The noise kept grating on his nerves, too. Infinite silence, then a buzzing as if something was trying to talk to him. If it was an angel, they could simply turn up and talk to him; spirits were not damaged by an angel's true presence or voice. The itches, too, were annoying to the point of frustration. What started at the back of his neck and by his ear had spread to his wrists, then his legs. Now, there was an odd spark in his stomach.

He'd never been dead before, at least not a death he remembered. He had no idea what it was like.

Bobby had been reading in his study when he heard foot steps and his door opened. It was Ellen and Ash, the latter of whom was smiling.

"We didn't expect you to spend all your time in here. There's the whole of Heaven waiting for you."

He looked up from his reading material, careful to keep it out of Ellen's eyesight. While he may be able to fool Ash if need be, Ellen would read him like an open book. He was aware, suddenly, that he had no idea what he was even wearing. He had walked around in such a daze he didn't even think to check everything else.

Jeans. Tee. Over-shirt. Hat. Boots. Normal wear, then. Ellen herself was dressed in a leather jacket that clung to her frame plus a pair of jeans. She was barefooted. Ash was just Ash; scruffy, under dressed.

"Have you seen Karen?" He asked, ignoring her previous statement. He had not yet reached the feverish questioning for locations, but he knew and she knew that it was only a matter of time. Ash moved to sit on the window seat without hesitation or permission, while Ellen sat on the chair the other side of Bobby's desk.

"She left, shortly before you came here. I think Heaven wants you to get used to this place before you meet life-partners or people like that."

Curiosity was burning him now, "What was it like? You and Jo. Did you turn up together?"

She nodded, eyes beginning to glimmer, "Yes. Bill... He was waiting for us."

"The boys said you and Jo weren't here when they were here."

"We didn't want to upset them. They had work to do that was important." Ellen hung her head, "I really wanted to see them, though. I miss them."

"Well, they ain't changed much." Bobby replied, taking another swig from his beer.

_Bobby_.

He flinched as he heard the sound, louder now than it had been previously. It was as if the person using the voice was standing beside them all. His beer sloshed over him, but dried before he had a chance to clean himself.

He looked up. Ellen and Ash were staring at him.

"What was that?" Ash questioned.

* * *

The world was blood, and pain, and death and Crowley was damn well finished with it. He had been able to get away from the Leviathan's influence for a short while, after he had found out about Bobby Singer's injury.

_Balls_ , he hissed to himself, using the human's phrase rather than his own. It seemed more fitting. He had waited a while before visiting, plucking up some sort of courage to approach the Winchester brothers before he was shot full of salt or sent back to Hell via a messy exorcism. He hadn't been expecting Dean to be so run down. It must be serious.

He had searched for ways to help a human near death from such an injury for as long as possible, until the pull of something made him teleport to the hospital where he could feel Bobby's soul. He still had residue; he knew what soul to look out for.

A part of him considered turning up in a different meat suit, but found himself rather fond with the one he already had.

He hadn't expected the human to be so weak and frail. So lifeless. He'd known, shortly after seeing the penultimate breath Bobby took, what to do. It broke all rules. Only for him. He wasn't even sure why the human resonated within him so much.

And it confused Crowley greatly.

* * *

"I keep hearing them." Bobby admitted, settling back on his chair with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The way the pair were looking at them was not a good omen. If anything, Ellen looked ready to shout at someone and Ash was indicating he did not want to be anywhere near the elder Harvelle.

"That's not a good thing, Bobby. Someone is calling you." For all the rage in her face, her voice was calm and controlled. Obviously, she had gotten practice in Heaven on how to control her slightly overbearing ways. It didn't bother him, it was a facet of Ellen that couldn't change.

"I think that may be why Karen's not here. Because you're not supposed to be here." Ash added, inputting his genius into the conversation.

He was worrying a nail between teeth, still sat on the window seat, leaning forwards slightly.

"Why? Why should you not belong here? Not that I want you to be here," She added, "But I think it's the boys. I think they need you."

_Bobby. Please. Come back to me._

Flashes behind his eyes; images too quick for him to follow. A man in a suit; the interior of Bobby's house. A flash of the Impala; reflection of perhaps dark eyes. Red eyes. Dick Roman laughing. Meg's torture. The Alpha vampire.

It stopped, and Bobby almost keeled over on his seat, breathing harsh as though running for his life. Ellen was next to him in a moment, hand on his shoulder, as if unsure whether to check his pulse. They were not living beings anymore; it would be futile to attempt such measurements.

"Bobby?" Ellen questioned sharply, nerves suddenly on edge. She knelt down as the old hunter tried to regain sense of what he had just seen.

_Fires. Hell. Demon. Crowley._

Ignorance.

"I'm... fine. Just felt like memories, but they're not mine."

"Could it be someone tryin'a bring you back to life?" Ash asked nervously, trying to work out or remember the ways someone could bring another being down from heaven that wasn't an angel.

"We could check with the angels if need be. Sure, a lot of the time they're dicks, but there will always be one that's friendly. I mean, Castiel, right? What if he's trying to bring you back?

Bobby had forgotten Ellen wouldn't know.

"Ellen, Castiel's dead."

"What? Don't be daft. He's an angel."

"Yes. And he ended up working with Crowley trying to open the gates to Purgatory so he could take over Heaven and purify it from Raphael's influence."

"Why?" Ash was further out of the loop than Ellen was, and it showed.

"Raphael wanted to start the Apocalypse again, and would probably end up killing Sam and Dean before they could fight back. I guess Castiel couldn't allow that to happen."

"Old feathers was too into Dean for his own good."

"Yeah, well... Dean took it hard. Real hard. And Sam went to Hell with Lucifer, and now he's hallucinatin' the damn angel everywhere he looks. Where did it all go wrong, Ellen?"

He didn't care how bitter he sounded. He _knew_ he didn't belong here. He belonged back on Earth.

But not with the boys.

He knew, then, whose memories he had seen.

* * *

The fire burned, light in the infinite darkness. Shadows flickered and stilled as the fire was tended to, burning hotter to destroy the corpse that was inside.

Two men sobbed, grieving the loss of their last father figure; while in the distance, a demon with grey eyes stood and cried too.

* * *

"So how're you gonna get back?" Ash said, frustrated, as he put down the last book on the bookshelf. The room had been turned into a librarian's nightmare; dusty books heaved onto every available surface; on the floor if there was no room. They had been scoured and pored over, handed around and thrown angrily.

Bobby Singer still had no means of getting back to Earth, and it frustrated him. The voices, once a solitary and random occurrence, were getting louder and gaining strength. He could hear them continuously in his mind; like the buzzing of a fly you could not see. If Ellen and Ash were to be quiet, they too could hear the voices; almost like a choir. There were undertones of darkness to it that no one could quite explain; but they had no reason to consider it dangerous to them.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Don't think the angels are just gonna let me walk outta here."

"Not unless we find a way to smuggle you out."

"It's not gonna work," He replied, slamming his book onto the table with a sharp turn of his wrist, "They have angels stationed everywhere. The Garden, or somewhere, is probably crawling with means of keeping an eye on us all."

"Hunters especially." Ellen added, gravely shaking her head. She had long ago decided that her friend did not belong in Heaven. Although she would have loved the chance to go back to Earth, she couldn't leave Bill and Jo; and even Ash needed her. No, she would stay and watch them from up here, where it was peaceful and she was able to drink her drinks in peace. Nothing to hunt, nothing to fear. The angels may have been tyrants in some people's eyes, but they did nothing really to disturb those in their personal heavens.

Bobby hissed, clamping hands over his ears as the voices changed again, this time screaming with the effort of gaining his attention. He had only just realised how much of him hurt; it was a fire he could not escape from. It was death all over, repeated again and again no matter how many times he begged it to stop. He fell to his knees; aware of Ellen's shouting and Ash's stomping footsteps as they tried to move him into a comfortable position. Ellen looked pained; the voices were straining against her.

"Someone wants you back on Earth badly." She managed to shout out above the noise.

He could only nod; acutely aware of his screaming organs and bones.

There was a flash in the corner of his eye; an angel. His wings were stretched as far as they would go, a status symbol. He seemed angry. Evidentally, humans did not routinely escape from the protection Heaven offered.

"NO!" He screamed, but his words were in vain.

The world spun around Bobby as he removed his hands. The voices were blurred into one noise; like being on a busy street where everyone was talking at the same time. It was louder, though; like everyone had megaphones and were shouting in his direction.

He found he was not afraid. He saw just one image.

Black.

Ellen let out a scream as the the world around him turned white.

* * *

He blinked. And blinked again. He was lying on his back; he could feel the grass, course and rough, underneath him, and absently ran a hand across it. So he must be back then, or this was a bizarre trick brought on to break him.

The sun wasn't out; cloudy as though it was early morning. He turned his head to the left, seeing a plantation of trees, before turning to his right and seeing the same.

Bobby could hear movement, and stilled his own; waiting to see what happened next. When all he got was the sound of heavy breathing, he sat up slowly.

There was a man lying on the ground by his feet, shivering as if he had just been in the arctic. He was curled in on himself, but Bobby could see the red droplets around him; blood. The air smelt of it, too, and the metallic tang was enough to convince Bobby he was back on earth. He had beaten the Leviathans.

He pressed a hand to his head, to feel for a wound that wasn't there. Completely healed.

He glanced back at the man, "Hey?" He said, rather awkwardly. When the man simply shivered and let out a painful moan, he moved to his knees and scooted over, pressing a hand to the man's shoulder and pulling it towards him.

The suit was made of expensive fabric, and Bobby let out a gasp of surprise; Crowley was lying on the floor, as white as a sheet, shivering and close to, presumably, death.

"What?" He found himself saying before he could stop himself; caught by surprise.

It had better not be what it looked like. If the damned demon had killed himself to bring him back from Heaven, he was going to bust a nut or something. Only idiots did things like that.

"You're an idjit, Crowley." He whispered, moving the demon further onto his back. He protested through a whimper which Bobby ignored, pressing a cold finger to Crowley's pulse on his neck. His skin was clammy but cold, and he asked himself how long Crowley had been draining himself for to get enough blood needed for a ritual of this size; if it was a ritual that brought him back.

"You're..." Crowley bit out, coughing. His eyes were still closed in pain.

"Quiet, Crowley. Save your strength." He replied gruffly, not entirely sure why pain coursed through him at the demon's moan of pain.

"... Alive." He finished, letting out a sigh. For a moment, Bobby panicked; thinking the demon dead.

"Crowley?"

"Mmm'here."

"Good. What the hell were you thinking? Bringing me back from Heaven."

Crowley sounded like a petulant child; delirious from the pain, "Needed you. Winchesters broken."

"Are you going to be okay?" Bobby asked, ignoring the demon's first sentence. He didn't need to hear it; he knew how the demon was feeling. It was a stupid question to ask; the man was lying on the grass, bleeding from ripped veins in his wrists, shivering as if caught in a snowstorm.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't missed the demon. They challenged one another; physically and intellectually. He owed a lot to Crowley; first for his legs and now for bringing him back from Heaven, the impenetrable fortress that it was.

Satisfied that Crowley's pulse was adequate for his survival, Bobby moved to sit by the demon's side as he restored himself. He was not surprised when an open eye showed pure black with a red ring.

"You've never shown your eyes to me before, you know."

"Sorry." The eye that was slightly open again closed, and Crowley moved his hand to rest on Bobby's leg.

"Missed you, y'know."

His hand patted the human's leg, and Bobby didn't know what to do with himself. He was thankful to the demon for bringing him back, truly, but he had no idea what had just transpired between the pair of them.

"What did you do? To bring me back?"

Crowley managed to open an eye again, but it was obviously a strain for him. It was strange seeing black and red there instead of his usual grey steel. Bobby had no choice but to wait it out. It was rather interesting to see the King's true eye colour. It was a symbol of status that the demon had never had to pull on the Winchesters, or on Bobby.

"Gave blood. Humans do it all the time for each other."

He tried to sit up with some effort; taking his time. Bobby could see the wound on his left wrist. It reminded him of a chasm; it was such a deep wound, it was strange to wonder if he'd killed his vessel. He helped the demon sit up when it was obvious Crowley would not be able to do it alone.

"There must have been more to it."

"Magic. Souls. The usual. I just needed you back."

"You keep saying that," Bobby said, "But you don't explain yourself."

"When we play chess at your place... For me, love, it's like foreplay."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Honestly, all you think about is sex, don't you?"

Crowley scowled, and Bobby watched as his eyes slowly faded back to his normal colour, "No. I think about sex with you."

He leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to the human's lips on instinct; as if it was something he had done a million times before. It was metallic; the hint of blood mixed with danger. Bobby found he had no desire to move away. Where their first kiss, to seal the soul-selling deal, had been simply about completing the old ritual; this was simply for pleasure. He was surprised that he did not want to move away from the demon.

When Crowley moved Bobby followed him, pulling on the lapels of the expensive suit to draw him back in.

"My, you're eager," Crowley murmured against the warm mouth, a smile snaking its way to his lips.

He closed his eyes when he felt the barest hint of a tongue against his lips.

Bobby pulled away, "Why are you always saving my ass? It's damn annoying, you know. First you give me my legs back, and then you bring me back from death."

"What can I say? I can't have the world end, and you are an important component in keeping that world turning. At least for me."

"You're really sappy, you know that?"  
Bobby got to his feet, slowly and unsteady. He was glad that he was still wearing clothes; but he had been at the hospital before.

"Where are we?" He asked, looking left and right.

"This is where Dean and Sam cremated you."

"You're kidding?"

Crowley shook his head, placing his hands in his pockets, "They really did suffer, you know." He sounded serious and disheartened at the same time.

"I just don't understand how you did it. By all laws, it should be impossible."

A shrug of the shoulders, "Just because it may seem impossible doesn't mean it can't be done. I did something bad for you, so you better damn appreciate it. I wouldn't be surprised if one of those black-blooded suckers comes out of the ground and kills me."

Bobby found himself unable to speak. Crowley spoke for him, taking the human's hand delicately and pretending to inspect it.

"Look, I know I'm usually good with words... But right now I don't know what to say. When I saw you at the hospital, I couldn't breathe. I'd never felt it before. I had to save you."

"Was it that you cared? Or was it guilt that you turned against us for Raphael?"

The demon flinched then, and Bobby felt himself smirk, "I'd rather you didn't remind me of my deal with Raphael. It was only because of him that I was able to get into Heaven and bring you back. He was the top dog; I had to steal a little of his intel first."

It was as if Crowley had known Bobby was going to die; and he would rather not think of his mortality so soon after rising from the dead.

They realised they were both still holding hands, but neither motioned to move away. Crowley's gaze was burning into Bobby, eyes locked in an endless war of wits neither were willing to end. Crowley's eyes spoke of trust and perhaps indecisiveness, weariness or pain, while Bobby's were burning with uncertainty.

"I won't be able to let you go, Singer. Not after what I've done for you. I broke the world for you. I trashed Heaven for you."

"I'm not expecting you to leave. It's going to take a long time, but I can get used to this. Being alive again." The second part, the part about the pair of them, was left unsaid. Both knew that they would take their time with it.

"You know I'm going to be there, right love? Can't let you out of my sight for a moment. You'll go in all guns blazing and get yourself killed again. And that means all my lovely blood would have gone to waste."

"Isn't that a shame?" Bobby replied scathingly, sarcastic until the very end.

"C'mon, I'm going to bring you back to Dean and Sam. We have work to do. The Leviathans need to fall and soon."

They were still holding hands, and if Dean or Sam commented on it later when everything died down, it was ignored.  
Sure, Bobby didn't completely trust demons; he trusted Crowley more than the others, but he had learned that sometimes the rules needed to be broken. Crowley had inadvertently turned Heaven upside down to bring Bobby back; and he was thankful. He didn't belong in Heaven anyway. Seated next to Crowley on a sofa while they planned an attack on the Leviathans; that was Bobby's Heaven.


End file.
